In the Dog House
by A Grayer Shade of Gray
Summary: ABOUT TIME WE HAD A ROCKHOUND FIC! His stripper wife left him, he's teaching remedial high school physics. You figure the rest out and have fun reading, and leave a review.


In the Dog House, Part 1

  
  


I don't own the rights to Armageddon, I just enjoy Buscemi's work as an actor. Look forward to some more, perhaps, depending on my work load with school and some other things. 

  
  


So we saved the world, what's next? I got married to the stripper, Mini Mouse, who's real name was Sarah Lines, and had a kid. His name was Spencer. All of us who survived that God forsaken rock went back to drilling under A.J., well until he bankrupt the company. After that Sarah left me, too Spencer and I haven't seen either of them in over a year. The boys all split up and no one has heard from AJ since this whole thing happened. Grace and him stayed together, though, as far as I've heard. Rumour has it though he got deep into dept and killed himself for the money, just so Grace could be safe. 

Me? Well, I'm a high school physics teacher now. Oh how low I've resorted to. It's the summer and I should be enjoying myself but I'm sitting here, behind a desk in a peppermint green coloured room which vaguely reminds me of vomit, teaching a group of delinquents and losers about the rudimentary laws of physics that they missed the first time round, and will probably miss this time too, because they were too stoned to find their feet. 

One girl is different though, and only God knows why she's in this class. Well, no, I know why she's here too. She needs a senior science credit to graduate and she's one of those people who can't stand to be around science. She's smart, really smart, and for the life of me I don't understand why they wouldn't let her go without the damned credit. Hell, a fucking 98 % in Enhanced English? 

The poor girl is so out of her element here. I'm going to give her an A no matter what, if for only the reason she deserves it for putting up with these dip shits every day. She sits quietly to the left of my desk, near the window, and watches the clouds. Probably off day dreaming but at least she's not drooling on the desk like half the other people. Her note books open, probably writing another poem or story, perhaps even drawing. She's one of those artsy girls, one of those gothy girls too. She's cute, but perhaps too much make up. If she was a bit older, I'd make her scream. Hell, if I thought I had a chance with her I'd make her scream. 

We talk a lot. Her name's Anne and she wants to be a lawyer. I laughed when she told me that. "Lawyers are the blood sucking scum of the Earth," I had replied to her, to which she countered with an impeccable ease, "Those who can do, those who can't teach," which as old as the whole idea is, made me smirk. She would make a good lawyer. 

We had a lot of talks. I told her how I had saved the world and lost my whole life because of it, she would ask questions about what the asteroid looked like, what it felt like. Emotional, female questions, but I could tell she was analysing them in a sterile way, not in the usual overly feeling way a woman would. Like I said, she was a different kind of girl. 

Maybe it was that difference that set her aside in my opinion. She was a cute girl, smart and sarcastic. A bombshell just waiting to be set off, and for some reason I felt compelled to be the one who detonated it.

"Anne, could you stay after for a bit," I asked, not looking up from my books. I was trying to act as casual as I could, but it was hard. She had no reason to stay after, and she knew it. The thing was, so did the other students. I got a weird look from one girl which read "Pedofile" all the way. 

"Sure," she said with a nod, awakening from yet another dream. She closed her books and came up to the front of the class, her bag slung over her left shoulder across her chest. She didn't have big breasts, which was odd since I normally was into the girls with melons the size of my head, but then again, I had never had a hard on for a girl this much younger than I, or someone who differed from the mainstream as much as Anne did. "What's the problem?"

I froze. The problem? Oh, there's no problem. I just want to bend you over my desk and make you call me Daddy. That was -not- the response I gave. "Uh... Well, as you know, and have told me, science isn't your thing," I started out. Way to state the obvious.

"Yeah..." she looked down, blushing a little. Why was she blushing? This was the girl that never even so much as looked at the stoners as they tried to grab glances at her pale cleavage, which was no in close proximity to my line of sight. It was all I could do to keep my eyes away. "I keep meaning to talk to you about that..."

"Really?" Well that was an interesting development. I suddenly felt less perverted and a little more at ease. She wanted to talk to me, all be it about her homework or test scores, but still. I didn't feel quite as much like a creep any more. "What would you like to talk about?"

"Well, when I go to university, I need to take a natural science course," she started out. Natural science? Oh man, at this point, I was starting to feel that she wanted to talk to me more for the sake of talking to me more and more. This girl might not understand physics, but natural science? That's like why do clouds move bull. Even the stoners could ace that. "I was wondering if I could keep in touch with you, you know, to help me... If I could call you at the school or maybe have your email or something?" She was blushing and I knew there was more to this than tutoring. The little girl had a crush on her teacher. Now I understand that it's just the authority thing, an Ophelia complex. I understand this completely, but it doesn't really mean anything to me. 

"Yeah, no problem." I wrote down my home number and handed it to her. A slender hand grasped the paper and I felt the cool slip of her finger tips across my hands. She had pianists hands, long and slender fingers, except she played guitar. I've heard her sitting in the Quad before, strumming away on an electric guitar. It was an Ibanez, it said so on the head stock. It was a dark and beautiful guitar for a dark and beautiful girl. "That's my home number. I don't know how much longer I'll be working here, and I don't like computers all that much."

"Thanks," she said with a smile and left the room. That's something to go into the banks for later. 

I wanted to watch her ass as she walked out of the class room, but I refrained. As horny as I was, and as big a hard on as she had given me, I held back. There would be time for that later. I pulled myself closer to the desk and swore to myself I would not stand up to teach the next class. Enough people already thought I was a pedofile for the way I looked, I didn't need to give them any more reasons. 


End file.
